


Beginnings

by Wasuremono



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wasuremono/pseuds/Wasuremono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death goes outside his comfort zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lookslikelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookslikelove/gifts).



> This was originally written (quickly and sloppily, without a beta) as a treat for Yuletide 2007. It was well-liked then, and I think it holds up shockingly well for something I wrote on the fly four years ago.

Death was not used to having no dominion.

It was one of the small perks of the job, after all: that wherever he went, there would be something for him to do. His work was everywhere, from the emperors to the lowliest crawling thing, and in every footstep he could find some small creature that had finally decided to make an end of its existence. It was strange to force himself away from it -- to take a holiday, as his son-in-law had suggested not so long ago, and as he had duly considered and discarded. It simply was not his way.

Thankfully, though, he had just made himself a small diversion. As the stove began to heat up, he set to work on the tiny lives swarming within the kettle's water, releasing them each as it came closer and closer to boiling.

It was easier to make tea when one considered all the deaths required.

At last, the kettle came to a boil, and the last life inside breathed its microscopic sigh and was quiet. Death took down the teacups and hesitated over his choices -- anything to distract himself from the growing light of new life in the next room.

He'd been present at births before, of course. It wasn't even uncommon. He had, however, never been present at a birth in precisely this capacity -- or, indeed, in any capacity involving well-wishing. He should perhaps have known that this kind of thing was inevitable when he began to trifle with humans, but at the time it had all seemed so simple.

Death's thoughts were interrupted interrupted when the door opens and Mort stepped in. The Duke of Sto Helit was hardly looking worthy of his title: his clothes wrinkled, his hair tousled, and a vast smile on his face. "I knew you'd show up," he said.

REALLY? I DID NOT KNOW MYSELF UNTIL I ARRIVED.

"I had a hunch."

PERHAPS. SIT DOWN, said Death. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?

"Definitely." Mort slumped down in the kitchen chair, gratefully accepting the teacup Death set in front of him. "... It's a girl. She's beautiful -- looks just like Ysabell, thankfully. Can you imagine what a girl who took after me would look like?"

NO, BUT I AM NOT KNOWN FOR MY IMAGINATION.

"Let's just say it wouldn't have been pretty," said Mort, taking a longer sip of his tea than perhaps was wise; Death felt the tiny things lining his mouth scream and expire, and silently he shepherded them along their way. "-- Gah! ... anyway... they're doing fine. Doing wonderfully, actually. The midwife's not letting anyone in, but when she does, I'm sure Ysabell will want you to see."

FUNNY, said Death. I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION IT WAS CONSIDERED BAD LUCK TO INVITE ME.

"Special circumstances," said Mort, "seeing as you're the granddad and all. Speaking of which... er, well, do you want any part of this? I thought you didn't, but, well, here you are."

Death hesitated at that. It was a fair point. He'd hardly been the best father to Ysabell, and being a grandfather was more complicated than that, from what he'd gathered: a strange mixture of the sentimental and ceremonial. The only thing to be said for the position was that its responsibilities were infrequent. Nonetheless...

I WILL CONSIDER IT, he said at last. I WILL PROMISE NOTHING, BUT I WILL MAKE AN ATTEMPT. FOR NOW, THE CUSTOMARY PROCEDURE INVOLVES A SOFT ANIMAL, CORRECT?

"Typically, yes," said Mort, "or something knitted. But a soft animal is best."

VERY WELL, THEN. I SHALL RETURN SHORTLY.

Mort rose from the table, expression conflicted -- confused, tired, and happy in equal proportion, Death decided. (Confusion and fatigue were easy for him to gauge; happiness, less so.) "Er, one thing you should know... we're calling her Susan."

OH?

"... I thought you should know. In case you're going to have something embroidered."

YOU MIGHT, PERHAPS, WANT TO GO SLOWLY. I AM A BEGINNER IN THIS FIELD.

"Aren't we all?" said Mort. "That's the joy of it, isn't it -- the beginnings? ... She even looks like a Susan. She's got your gaze. You're really going to love her..." Death merely nodded; there was no use reasoning with a man in that kind of mood, no matter its cause. Some things, it seemed, remained universal.

Now, then. Where in the world could he find a small soft bear at this hour of the night?


End file.
